Page 50 of Feathers From the Sky

“Just go!” Margot shouts, and I laugh at her delusional ass. She’s stumbling to her feet, those goddamn heels making it difficult, when he turns the gun back toward her. There is no room for hesitation when I put on a burst of speed and sprint toward the man. He’s turning toward me when he shoots, most of it going past me, but I grunt when I feel the sting in my side.

Tackling him to the ground, I take the shotgun and toss it toward Margot. She’s struggling still, but she’s crawling for it as I rip Charlie’s headphones off.

“Did you have anything to do with killing my brother?”

“No,” he spits.

“You didn’t kill a vampire a couple of months ago?”

“Not months ago, no,” he says, laughing. “Try years, buddy.”

Margot screams my name as cold steel pushes against my stomach. I hesitate just long enough that he gets his finger on the trigger, and he shoots me just as I break his neck.

Rolling off him, I groan, pressing my hands to the wound. It’s pure fire, sizzling heat in my gut, but I already feel my body trying to heal. It’s slow because of the silver, but it’ll have to do. “Clean shot,” I say, as Margot stumbles over to me. She pushes me onto my side, and a roar tears up my throat as her hand touches where the bullet went through my skin. I don’t let her see my other side where I can feel the buckshot embedded in my skin as I pull my shirt back down.

“Fuck me.” She winces as she lowers herself to the ground beside me.

“Cops will be here soon. Old fuck isn’t as far out as he thinks.” I stand, and before she argues with me, I sling her over my shoulder. Margot cries out, the jostling probably hurting like a motherfucker, and I make my way back to her car. We don’t have time for me to pick out all the silver from her wounds, and I’m in pain enough myself as it is.

“Did he do it?” Margot asks, and I don’t bother to answer.

17

GWYN

Gasping for air,I sit straight up out of sleep. Something startled me awake, and I look around, my eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. Someone’s shadow interrupts the sliver of light beneath the door, and I clamber out of my bed, knowing I have nowhere to hide. There’s a scuffing sound as something rubs along the outside of the door, and I hear the key in the lock.

I don’t know if I should bother going into the bathroom because that might only make them angrier. After what already happened tonight, I don’t want them thinking I’m fighting back. It will only make things more painful.

When the door opens just a crack, I whimper in relief when I hear Roman’s voice. It’s rough like gravel, and so quiet, I wonder if he was trying not to frighten me. The thought is a thread pulled from a knot inside my stomach I’m not sure is worth untangling.

“Gwyn? You awake?”

His words slur, and I hear him flip on the light switch as he ducks into the room. Eyes burning from the light, it takes a moment to focus as he shuts the door behind him. He collapses backward against it, and I don’t understand what I’m looking at. He’s covered in blood, and I think he might be drunk off it. My stomach drops, and the peculiar taste of betrayal makes its way into my bloodstream. This time the thread yanks, and I try my damnedest not to pull it.

His hair is hanging down around his face, wet with sweat and more blood. I bite my lower lip, attempting to stay silent when I wonder why he looks like this. It’s none of my fucking business, and the knowledge won’t help me. His eyes are closed and his chest moves slowly as he takes deep breaths. I’ve never seen him so relaxed, even after drinking my blood, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

“What do you want?” I demand, and, though his eyes stay closed, his mouth tips up into a soft smile.

“A lot of things, Gwyn. But right now, I want your help.” He shrugs off the black leather jacket he wears, and I notice the black T-shirt beneath it is absolutely saturated.

“Take it up with your washer and dryer.” I bend over and dig a pair of shorts out of the small pile of clothes Margot has given me. I’d been sleeping in a T-shirt and underwear, but I can tell Roman doesn’t intend on leaving anytime soon. “Clean up your own mess.”

Despite his drunkenness and the fact he bumps into my bed, I’m surprised how efficiently Roman moves as I find him hovering over me, his face an inch away from mine. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and he seems unsteady on his feet. It’s my first hint that something more is wrong.

“This is your mess, sweetheart.”

When he whips his shirt off, I realize the blood wasn’t someone else’s, but his. There are a handful of small holes in his stomach and side surrounding a single much larger hole. Everything is bleeding.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. Without thinking, I grab him by the shoulders and turn him so he’s sitting on my bed. “What happened?”

“Charlie’s dead.”

“What?” My jaw drops, and my chest tightens. “What do you mean? I thought you couldn’t find him? What do you mean he’s dead? Did you kill him?” My words are coming faster and faster, and when I clench my fists, stress indents itself into my palm in crescent-shaped accusations. “I thought you said you wouldn’t—did he hurt Remy?” Roman’s looking up at me, solemn with a softened brow, and it seems like he might lose consciousness.

“It was self-defense,” he says. “Now, can you help me?”

He turns, spreading out over my bed. His feet hang off it, the twin size just too short for his long body. Most of the blood is on his stomach and side, but I see a fair amount up on his shoulder as well. Red fills some of his black-outlined tattoos, and I can’t help but mourn the ruined words which once lived on his side. The verse is still there, but I can only make out parts of the French script.

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